It Freakin' Means Something

So the worst thing that has happened to my blog is Google Reader going away.  I am putting my Syrian Dart Hex on you, Google!  I am feeling an urge to write and since for the first time in 2 years I am not drowning in school work, I am going to write something.

First of all, I gotta address the age of this blog...it is nearly 8 years old!  I started it when we moved to Stephenville in August 2006.  Darcy was 11 months old.

From the Way Back Machine, Fall 2006:

And for comparison:  Easter 2014:

Here's my very first post ever.  I wasn't even 30 yet.  We did not have a Reagan  Roux-Roux or a Bubba Gump, but here is some evidence that at least one was on their way...

See Reagan?  She's on the inside...July 2007.

All that to say, this blog has been around longer than some of my children.  Speaking for my blog, it feels neglected. I'm sure I have things to say.  I've talked about a lot of things here.  Homeschooling, quilting, blah, blah, blah.  Check the sidebar for a list.

On to today's topic...it freakin' means something.

So what I've been doing lately is school.  I'm 37 years old.  Gah!  But I just completed my Associate's degree.  I'm a college graduate.  I graduated from Tarrant County College.  I was one of hundreds of graduates about 2 weeks ago, and that may be a conservative estimate.

See me?


This is Brian's very best guess.  At first, I thought, "I'm not going to walk.  That's stupid."  Actually, further back than that, I wasn't even going to finish the associate's degree.  I was just going to transfer to Big School.  I didn't think earning the associate's was important or that it meant anything. But it freakin' means something!

Why?

Because my first semester, I took a music class, The History of Rock & Roll, that literally made me cry.  One semester, I took a Biology class that met every Saturday.  It was taught by a real MD who didn't realize this was Biology for Non-Science majors.  I took Biology, Part II, online during Christmas Break.  Whose idea was that?  That same Christmas, I took an English class where I had to write a 10 page annotated bibliography over Walt Whitman.  I hope I never see that guy again or read another word about "Leaves of Grass".  Which is pretty much impossible since Apple is now using his work to hustle theirs.  Ugh.

Brian was so insistent that I earn the degree, I took a PE class not required by Big School just so I could earn it.  I carried a full load every semester since August 2012.  And I did it while I was a wife to Brian, who travels 40-60% of the time.  I did it while I was a mother to Lily, Darcy, Reagan and Joshua.  One solid year of this, I had 2 kids at home.  Not in preschool or at Mother's Day Out.  At home.  While I did school online.  I did it while we were building a house.

Brian and I earned that degree.  It freakin' means something.

He picked up the slack he gave me.  I could have never finished it if he hadn't been there urging me on.

In January, I knew it was time to apply to graduate, but I had not planned to walk.  Even though I had worked hard for 2 years, I didn't think it meant anything to walk.  My advisor urged me to walk.  I thought it was stupid.  Except...not really.  I wanted to do it, but thought, "it's junior college, who cares about that?"  Turns out, I do.  I thought people would think going through all the Pomp & Circumstance for an associate's degree was...silly.  And maybe it is.  But it can't be that silly.  There were hundreds and hundreds of graduates and the venue was COMPLETELY FULL of people cheering.

I cried when I walked out to take my seat.  I was trying not to which is probably why I wasn't a huge, sobbing mess.  But it had finally settled on me.  What I  had done had meaning to me.  I have 3 years left to complete my program.  Big School starts in the fall.  But for a moment in time, I took the opportunity to celebrate the completion of 2 years' worth of blood, sweat and tears.  And it meant something.

Part 2-Our Quiver, Or What The Lord Has Done

The first days of being a stay-at-home mom were a trial by fire. I was not good at it and I didn't enjoy it. I was not bathed. I did not cook. I did no laundry and did not clean. I struggle through pregnancy and could barely manage to haul myself around. I did not go anywhere. I was miserable.

Despite the bleeding, the baby was doing well. I was getting big and uncomfortable and desperately wanted Brian to agree that we could stop. I thought 2 girls 15 months apart was a sign from God To.Stop.

During this pregnancy was the first time I ever heard anyone talk about not using birth control and letting God determine the size of a family. I thought that was lunacy. Just complete and total stupidity. What kind of stupid, half-baked man's idea was that? I was just sure those remarks had come from a man; no woman I knew would think up something that asinine. And even if she did, it was her body to be ridiculous with if she wanted. I was so pissed off about the very idea of it, that I couldn't even be rational.

Darcy was born during the evacuation from Hurricane Rita. In another hospital and by another doctor. After a few days in Wichita Falls and then 2-3 more in Bryan/College Station, we were invited to stay with a friend in Houston until we could get back home permanently. It was just he and his wife, and she was working overseas so he was all alone rambling in their big, lovely home. We accepted, arriving on a Tuesday. Tuesday night found me in the ER with contractions 5 minutes apart and no way to get in touch with my doctor. I already had a C-section scheduled for Friday (didn't look like that was going to be happening) so the on-call doctor agreed to put me on her schedule for Thursday morning.

We had nothing for a baby except the carrier. Brian had the foresight to go by and pick up the carrier we had lent on our way out of town. I know that was God, not Brian. Brian's strong suit is not in those types of details. That is my area and being so overwhelmed with everything else, it never occured to me to get it because it never occured to me that we might need it. We stayed with our friend for over 2 weeks. It was very difficult knowing that we were imposing on him, but so very grateful to recover in a home, instead of a hotel, our other option.

After 3 weeks of being gone, we were finally able to return home and deal with the mess that was our house.

Unlike Lily, Darcy was born without any problems at all. I was told by both sets of grandparents and Brian that she did something the baby nurse had never seen in 25 years of nursing: she pushed up on her arms and picked up her head and looked around. As soon as I was brought into recovery, she was brought in to nurse. Like Lily, she latched on immediately and ate well. This is a picture of me in the recovery room, holding her for the first time. Yes, I am aware I look scary and my hair is a train wreck.

Part 1-Our Quiver, Or What The Lord Has Done For Me

I find it so fascinating to compare where my life has been to the place where I am going. The Lord is doing mighty things to me and for me, and subsequently, to and for my family. This is not the first time I have touched on this topic of childbearing. I originally discussed it nearly 2 years ago, but my views have changed from even that perspective. Previous post here.

(I keep typing and deleting and typing and deleting. As much as I want to simplify and focus on one issue at a time, I just can't. It is not just one issue for me. It is multi-faceted and it seems impossible to separate them.)

After years of believing that something like this would never happen, miracle of miracles, I found someone who wanted to marry me and have children. And I was able to have children, which was contrary to medical information I had received as a teenager. Not only was I able, but together, Brian and I were so fertile, we had 2 children within 15 months of each other and before we had been married 3 years.

Lily, our oldest, was born 3 weeks early via a scheduled C-section after the doctor gave me the option of being induced and attempting a normal delivery or a section. Multiple ultrasounds indicated that she was well in the 9 pound or more range and there may have been some question as to my ability to get her out. I didn't see the need to go through hours and hours of labor just to have a section in the end. I opted to cut the middle man.

Knowing that the number of children most doctors believe I could safely deliver would now be limited to 4 because of that decision, would not have affected that decision. Realizing that choosing a section would more than likely mean I would always deliver by C-section, would not have changed that decision. I was not misinformed. Having the information would not have changed my mind at that time. It is only recently after honest reflection of my heart and secret motives, then and now, that I am able to see things more clearly.

I refuse to feel guilty or believe I made a "sinful" or "bad" choice. I will allow that I didn't make the "best" choice because I allowed fear to motivate me and there are consequences in that decision. Both good and bad consequences. I had a beautiful, healthy baby who weighed nearly 10 pounds, 3 weeks early. She is still a blessing from God, no matter how she got out or how many follow her.

While I didn't feel a conviction about my C-section, it was after dragging myself to the NICU and seeing my precious daughter for the first time (the next day) and hearing of all her problems over subsequent days, that the Lord began to change my heart toward breastfeeding. That is something only He could have done. Jesus Christ Himself could have come down from heaven and told me it was better for the baby and I would have politely told Him I didn't care. I thought nursing was gross and I didn't want any part of it...I didn't care how good it was for the baby or who thought it was a good idea. I was not going to do it. Period. But after seeing my little daughter in the NICU with this problem and that problem and feeling inadequate to help her, waiting for experts to tell us the next thing to do or expect, I made the decision to give nursing a try. The neonatalogist had come to speak to me and tell me how the baby was doing and asked me if I was going to breastfeed. She suggested that I get a pump and try it, and if I didn't like it, I could stop. How freeing to me! I didn't have to sign on for life...just try it. In my mind, I began to wonder how I could keep something from her that might help just because I thought it was gross.

The first time I pumped, I felt like a humiliated fraud. For nine months, I had vehemently denied that any child of mine would have access to this chest and here I was, attached to a real live milking machine. I was surprised the first time I actually nursed her. None of the many, many, many breastfeeding advocates I'd come across told me it was going to feel like I was attached to a bear trap. How could something with no teeth hurt me so much? Lucky for Lily, she was a champion feeder because I gave her 10 seconds to figure it out or I was done trying. it took her 2. I nursed her for 4 months which was 4 months longer than I intended the day she hatched. The Lord was good to me knowing my heart on the matter. I have heard many mothers tell of trouble breastfeeding and the hurt and agony and inadequacy when they are unable. The Lord made it easy on me. She latched on quickly and well and He gave me so much milk, I could have fed the whole nursery. What a blessing.

Darcy was conceived after I missed 2-3 birth control pills while tending to Lily who, at 6 months old, was hospitalized for RSV.

What a shock. I was a working mom, and I loved working. But, the older Lily got, the more we talked about my staying home. I wanted to be there when she was sick. (And since she was in daycare, it seemed like she was sick all the time.) I didn't trust Brian to take her to the doctor and get all my questions answered. The part I really hated was the smell of other women on my baby. Except staying home just didn't seem possible. Early in my pregnancy with Baby#2, I started bleeding and was put on bedrest until the bleeding stopped. No one knew how long that might be. That was my first day as a stay-at-home mom. The bleeding stopped the day after I quit my job. I cried for most of the next 9 months.

Growing Like A Weed

Reagan is nearly four months old and I cannot believe how quickly the time is passing. Quite frankly, I am alarmed. How in the world is it possible that Lily will be 4 this year, Darcy will be 3 and I will be 31? Brian and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary this past December so "we" are getting long in the tooth as well. While we were dating I used to have these "flash forwards" to what our life was going to be like after we got married. It was really weird. I don't have them anymore and what I envisioned doesn't come close to matching reality. But reality isn't so bad, either.

I have a hard time reconciling Lily to her age. She's the oldest and she acts like a little mother hen. One day, out of complete desperation, I let her feed Reagan, with my supervision of course. Reagan woke up early and I was in the middle of fixing dinner and there was no way that I was going to be able to stop and there was no way that Reagan was going to wait. That really went pretty well. I just put Reagan in her bouncy seat and put Lily in the chair. It was a little time consuming going back and forth to adjust the bottle, but not nearly as time consuming as feeding her myself. The next time I had to use my "extra set of hands" is when I had to give Darcy an emergency bath.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the brilliant idea that we should start potty training Darcy. After 2 hours, I had an indication that she might not be ready yet. One of those indicators necessitated a bath in the middle of the day. It was past time for Reagan to eat, but Darcy needed a bath. As in, Darcy couldn't go forward with her day until she had a bath.

Now I understand why the oldest girls in families start "helping" so early. Mamas need the help! At least this mama does. And Lily is thrilled to death to be helping. Every day she wants to feed Reagan. So far, she can't wait to be a wife and mother which means I must be doing something right, even if it's by accident. She already has a husband picked out. That was after we told her that she could only marry someone who was a boy and not already in our family. (Darcy, Daddy, Uncles Lonnie and Greg were the top choices.)

Here are some recent pictures.

My happy Reagan taking her bath:

In this picture, I tried to capture that both of the girls were just staring at each other. I thought it was so sweet.

At the Hokey Pokey Place

With Papa:

Actually putting our right arm in:

We love the Hokey-Pokey!

The Middle of October

How is it already the middle of October?

They came and replaced the carpet upstairs this week. I got a notice on the door Monday to let me know that it would be done on Tuesday, at some point. This has been so aggravating to me...I feel like the carpet should have been replaced before we moved in because it definitely needed it. The carpet is ugly, to say the least (looks like the contractor's special that my parents' house had when it was built in 1977), but it's better than what it was by leaps and bounds.

In order to get out of the house, I ended up taking the girls to the mall in Fort Worth so I could pick up Darcy's pictures. They turned out so well! I know that I'm partial, but that girl takes some very nice pictures. Of course, I am learning that it has a lot to do with the photographer. We have tried to get Darcy's picture taken in the same dresses that Lily has had her picture taken in. I like to compare them to each other.

Lily's First Birthday


Darcy's First Birthday


And a couple other really cute pictures of Darcy because the photographer was so good:




The last couple of days, Darcy has been running a fever, but no other symptoms. I'm going to assume that it's from teething, but I don't know for sure. I just don't want Lily to get it, if it's not teething. Brian has been sick and the girls, too, but I have managed to escape major illness. I have been feeling so blah lately, I can't describe it. I feel like my head is in a fog and I don't have the energy or the inclination to do much of anything. For a while, I was feeling so good about everything, but lately, I don't care about anything.

I did learn the other day that I can read a magazine while I'm on the tread mill. 20 minutes went by in no time while I was reading Good Housekeeping. If I can read on the tread mill, then maybe I could read on the elliptical...that always seems like the longest 15 minutes of my life.

I'm thinking I need to go find something constructive to do...